


Dear Diary

by GreenBloodedHobgoblin



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: F/M, M/M, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-21
Updated: 2016-11-22
Packaged: 2018-09-01 09:28:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8619001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GreenBloodedHobgoblin/pseuds/GreenBloodedHobgoblin
Summary: Life aboard the Enterprise through the diary entries of a new crew member.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey,  
> if you read my other work, then I'm so sorry but I'm taking a break from that one. I'm not really sure if I'm gonna continue writing it or not. But this is a new one that I actually think might turn out okay! :) It's about the same OC as the last one was but from a different perspective.
> 
> Hope you enjoy!
> 
> LLAP

 

Dear Diary...

 

Day 1

The daft bitch wants me to write a diary… Ha! That’ll be bloody right. Get tae fuck! Stupid auld cow.

* * *

 

Day 2

This is stupid. Completely stupid and I hate the whole idea of it.

* * *

Day 3

_No Entry_

* * *

Day 4

_No Entry_

* * *

Day 5

~~I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to give it a shot. Never know, it might eve~~

Naw! Not a chance. It’s no happening.

* * *

Day 6

_No Entry_

* * *

Day 7

_No Entry_

* * *

Day 8

_No Entry_

* * *

Day 9

_No Entry_

* * *

Day 10

Collins died today. It was an accident like, but it still could have been prevented. If only I’d been paying attention. The Captain says it wasn’t my fault, that I’m not to blame myself, but that’s always easier said than done, y’know?

Just for the record, this isn’t me caving in. I’m still not writing a fucking diary. It was Monty’s idea to tell someone about what I was thinking and how I was feeling. So as I’m no bottling it all up.

I'm bad for that…

* * *

Day 11

_No Entry_

* * *

Day 12

The therapist, still a mad cow, reckons that I'm suffering from some kind of anxiety or depression-y thing. I dunno, I didn’t listen to the proper name of it. She wants to put me on medication but Doctor McCoy is having none of it. He doesn’t mind the fact that Kirk put me in therapy without consulting him (he is the ship’s surgeon after all, he’s got a right to know what’s happening with his patients) but he doesn’t believe in using drugs for, well for whatever it is I've got. He thinks that they’ll just make me worse. I'm not going to argue with him, Chuck knows that’s never gonnae end well. It's just that, he, he’s always saying how he’s ‘a doctor not a…’ you know how it goes, so how is he supposed to know what’ll help and what won’t?

 _Chuck_ … Jesus, I've got to lay off the Supernatural for a while.

* * *

Day 13

The doc got his way after all. No drugs for me. Don’t know if I'm happy about that or not, surely it can’t be a bad thing. ‘The Cow’ (that’s her name now) was only gonnae let that happen on one condition: I must write a daily entry in my diary.

Great. Now I'm definitely gonnae go mad…

Talking tae a fucking book.

* * *

Day 14

Am I depressed? Am I hell. Anxious? Yes, some of time. Especially when I'm around people I don’t know. Always like to make a good impression, always fail miserably.

Do I always end up looking like a complete and utter twat?

Of course I do.

* * *

Day 15

‘The Cow’ suggested writing about my childhood, from the very beginning, well, as far back as I can remember. So, one fact file about me coming right up.

Name: Mark Lawson

Date of Birth: 2228 (that makes me 36, current stardate is 2264, one year since the, um, ‘Krall incident’)

Rank: Lieutenant

Post: Assistant chief engineer aboard the U.S.S. Enterprise NCC-1701A (yes they made that post up, just for me).

Early Life: I was born in Kirkcaldy, in Scotland. Grew up in a small town called Cupar in Fife, just fifteen minutes outside of St. Andrews. I am the eldest of three. Never amounted to much in school. Mind you, that’s probably all thanks to one absolute numpty I called my best friend:

_Montgomery Scott._

We didn’t go to the same school, mainly because he was 6 years older than me but also because he lived in Linlithgow, but I do have modern technology to thank for him being able to keep me awake almost all the way through the night. Our grandparents lived next door to one another so I saw him most weekends and every school holiday. It was Monty that got me into engineering, showing me how to create something from nothing and explaining how it all worked. He had a brilliant mind, even back then, before any proper training. The only problem he had was a lack of stable income to fund his projects. He could never keep a job. He couldn’t even hack it working in a kitchen. Although saying that, I completely understand their reasoning for letting him go. I can’t imagine many people enjoy going out for a meal and having some sweaty, spotty faced twenty-something year old pulling up a chair next to them and blabbing on and on about his latest crazy idea whilst they are attempting to eat their dinner, especially when he should have been washing dishes and peeling tatties…

So it was left to muggins here to go out and work every night for money that I never saw. Between paying my mum dig money, insurance for my car and buying bits and pieces for this and that. I complained about it all the time back then but if I hadn’t then he wouldn’t have been able to come up with the masterpiece that got us a free pass into the University of Aberdeen. (Which was just as well, seeing as how neither of us left high school with any reputable qualifications.)

It didn’t last long.

Being a student in Scotland means that the government pays for your tuition, so any money you have left and any money you earn over and above that, is yours to do with as you please. We pleased ourselves a lot. Too much in fact. Because, you see, another good thing about being in university are student discounts. And there are loads of them. Everywhere. Pubs, clubs, fast food and cinemas. All the necessities really. Things no stressed out young person can live without. It was glorious. Monty’s very proud of the fact that he can call himself an ‘Aberdonian Pub Crawler’, not that it's an activity that he can ever repeat because he’s been barred from damn near every single pub in the whole city.

Long story short, too many drunken nights and late mornings resulted in our lecturers kicking us off the course, which then meant we weren’t able to stay in the halls of residence and so were promptly oot on wir arses (or homeless, whatever way you say it, with no possible way of affording a flat and with student loans now needing paid off, we were fucked).

We never had any intentions of joining the ‘Fleet when we were younger, but now, it seemed to be our only option. Luckily, Starfleet was like the army. To join, you only needed basic maths and English, the rest of it was on the job training. Granted you’d be at the bottom of the food chain but it was better than what we had. We started off being based in Glasgow but thanks to our ingenuity (let's not go into details about the how's and the why's) we were soon drafted out to the States to become a part of the larger engineering division in San Francisco. We graduated from the academy with honours, but from there it all started to go downhill again.

Monty as per usual was full of great ideas. They truly were brilliant, but we weren’t kids tinkering in his grandad’s shed anymore. This was Starfleet, this was real and there were rules to be followed (or broken if you’re a Scott). If there’s one thing Monty doesn’t like, it's being told he can’t do something, and if there’s one thing Monty loves, it’s proving people wrong (and sandwiches).

So, when some uppity-buppity instructor told him he was wrong in thinking that his theory of beaming someone from one planet to the next within the same star system would actually work, well, I'm sure you can imagine how Monty responded to that. He was adamant it would work and went out of his way to prove it. Now, my best friend is wonderful, he’s extremely intelligent but can be an absolute div at times. A normal person would use a plant, or some other kind of organic material that nobody’s really going to miss if it goes missing or gets interspersed as a bunch of atoms. Not Monty. No, he has to go and use a dog. But not just any dog, somebody’s pet. Admiral Archer’s pet.

I suppose it would have been slightly better if we had found Porthos again but we didn’t (I say _we_ because although I didn’t have anything to do with the disappearance, of course it became my problem too when things didn’t go as planned and Monty knew he was going to get a bollocking). Once Archer eventually found out what happened, it wasn’t pretty. For either of us. They shipped Monty off to some snowball in the Vulcan System along side Keenser, who wasn’t actually involved but he had grown quite attached to Monty and he has a few separation issues so he went too. I on the other hand was hung out to dry on what was practically a sun.

Okay… Maybe not a sun, but I'm Scottish, so it sure as hell felt like it. My planet didn’t have a name, just a code: 1JB-L4. Fucked if I ken what that means.  Although I'm fairly sure my body has been permanently damaged in way or another from the heat. I was stuck there whilst those two arseholes, unbeknownst to me, were swanning about on the buggering flagship of the fleet! It was only three years later that they conveniently managed to remember about me. It was convenient due to the fact that they were having teething problems with the new ship and needed my help straightening them out.

Bastards.


	2. Chapter 2

Day 16

I suppose it does feel kind of nice to talk about things, even if nobody can hear. Hmph. You’d think that on a ship as big as this with all these people that there’d be someone to speak to, but spending almost five years in solitary confinement can take its toll on a man. I’ve kind of forgotten how it feels to be surrounded by people. For a long time, it's just been me, myself and I. It’s a strange feeling hearing voices that aren’t in my head or just my own echoing off the walls.

The teething problems I mentioned yesterday weren’t a big deal. Just small annoying issues but copious amounts of them so everybody was at the end of their tether after the first month. I think everything’s fixed, but some of the replicators still chuck out rather strange concoctions. Can’t say I've ever had a lasagne with custard in place of a cheese sauce. Nor will I ever be trying it again. Oh, and the climate control broke so we had a different Earth-style weather characteristic in every department. Commander Spock wouldn’t survive in a rainforest without a hat, his hair doesn’t seem to appreciate humidity.

Less refined Vulcan, more shaved alpaca…

 

* * *

   


 

Day 17

Found out why I'm doing this therapy malarkey today. Apparently, Monty told Jim that I wasn’t my usual self, since coming back from 1JB-L4. He reckoned there was something wrong with me, something not quite right upstairs. I'm not really sure if I'm angry about it or not. Normally I would be. I would have told everybody involved where they could stick their shrinks and their diaries.

I must admit though; I do feel like there’s been a bit of a weight lifted. Like somehow I'm not completely alone anymore. Don’t really know how that works, but anything that helps the days feel a little less empty…

 

* * *

   


 

Day 18

McCoy called me up to sick bay today for a routine yet random physical. Mines wasn’t scheduled for another week yet, but I guess it gets it out of the way. Passed with flying colours, not that I was worried at all. We sat and spoke about how my diary was going. I lied to him. Told him I haven’t even picked it up. There’s no way I'm going to give anybody the satisfaction of thinking they helped me even remotely.

We’re due to arrive at Denobula tomorrow. An away team is to go dow-

****

That was Kirk. Turns out, that physical was just to evaluate my ability for joining the landing party tomorrow. I thought it was just a simple supply run but they seem to be having technical issues so Monty and I are going down too. Meet at 0400 hours in the transporter room.

Oh the joys…

 

* * *

   


 

Day 19

It’s too early for this shit…

Gonna take this with me, might help kill the boredom a little.

****

Oh, look, Kirk and Spock are arguing. Again.

****

Those two should just fuck already. The tension is driving everybody else round the bloody bend.

****

See if I've got to tell that idiot to keep that flamin’ knife away from me one mor-

Great.

Thanks, _pal…_

****

As you could probably tell, the mission went _perfectly_.

I’m currently back in my favourite ever place with a six-inch-long gash up my right forearm. The doc’s bound to be sick of the sight of me. I wish I could say the same, but strange as it seems, I’m growing to enjoy the man’s company. There’s a certain charm hidden beneath the rough and ready exterior, something I never noticed before. He’s one of the few people I feel comfortable letting my guard down around. He still doesn’t know the real Mark, I don’t think he’s quite ready for the foul mouthed, crude joking, heavy drinking pain in the arse I can be.

Then again, it might not even phase him…

 

* * *

   


 

Day 20

Monty managed to convince me to eat at the table with him, Jim, Spock, Sulu and Chekov for breakfast this morning. It was surprisingly nice.

The little Russian guy is extremely quick. Doesn’t miss a beat and knows more about the inner workings of the ship than what I do. That bit’s rather annoying actually, now that I think about it.

Hikaru’s great, found out he’s got a man, Ben, back home on Earth looking after their little girl. He’s certainly stronger than me, it breaks my heart having to leave my dogs at home and he’s walking away from his little family, none of them ever knowing if he’s gonna come back again.

Jim told me about his dad and everything that happened on the Kelvin the day he was born. That conversation ended abruptly when a pretty young yeoman walked into the mess hall and he started spilling the beans on his recent sexcapades.

Spock’s more the strong silent type, didn’t get much out of him other than how fascinating it was to eat banana on toast.

Wee bit disappointed McCoy wasn’t there…

   


* * *

 

 Day 21

Been invited to the monthly poker game with the bridge crew, Monty and a few chosen others. Never played poker in my life so that should be interesting. I’ll write more on that when I get back.

Maybe the doc might be there, not seen him since, well, since the last time I saw him.

****

Pro tip: beware the pilot.

Sulu has a completely unreadable face and is not afraid to take your last penny.

I'm now skint and totally rat-arsed, but all in all it was a good night. Sulu won just about every game but lost all of it in the bar when he said he’d get the drinks in. When you have two Scotsmen in your group then those words usually end up with you being slightly out of pocket. Maybe he’ll remember that the next time, then again, hopefully not.

McCoy made a fleeting visit. Stayed for one game and a drink but left again soon after. Said he had loads of reports to fill out.

Oh well. There’s always next month.

 

 


End file.
